Cuarto Espada
by Calenlass Greenleaf1
Summary: From beginning to end, the life of the Fourth Espada, Ulquiorra Cifer. Because all Hollows, even Arrancar, were once Human. This is not an epic WIP; there are eight chapters only. Character study; no pairings.
1. 一: Human

**Title:** Cuarto Espada

**Author:** Calenlass Greenleaf

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Bleach_—not even a copy of the manga or anime. I read/watch them online.

**Spoilers:** Major spoilers for some Bleach chapters and future Bleach episodes (For example, we have yet to see Ichigo-transformed and Ulquiorra dying in the anime; I don't know why they haven't showed that yet…instead, I have to sit through a bunch of Soifon scenes).

**Rating:** Very high PG-13 or T.

**Warnings:** Violence, angst, blood, mentions of crazy wounds and crazy bleeding…what you'd expect of Bleach, after all. No pairings/romance.

**Summary:** From beginning to end, the life of the Fourth Espada, Ulquiorra Cifer. Because all Hollows, even Arrancar, were once Human. This is not an epic WIP; there are eight chapters only.

**A/N:** Thoughts and conversations are in italics.

* * *

**Cuarto Espada**

_**Human**_

He was just like any other kid. Nothing unique. His name was ordinary. He was an average student in school. His parents weren't rich. He lived in an apartment, but he had his own rom.

Just another kid.

He didn't smile often, but he did it only for his little sister.

Rather, he cried more often.

At seven, he cried when his mother left his father for another man. Why, he asked, over and over again. But he didn't receive a single answer.

He tried his best to comfort his sister though, who was only four and didn't understand.

We're on our own now, girl (His sister hated her real name and insisted that he call her "girl." He never questioned her on this.)

At eight, he cried when his father began to come back home late, drunk. He watched in the shadows as his father staggered about and collapsed on the ground, smelling like cheap wine and vomit.

He still protected his sister, shielding her from the sight.

His work at school deteriorated, but…that was nothing to him.

At nine, he cried when his father began beating him. The drinking had reached a dangerous point now, and he often stumbled into bed, bleeding and bruised.

Luckily, he was always able to hide his sister somewhere before his father got back home.

He was friendless now; no one wanted to be near someone who looked half-dead. At first, it had hurt, but then it faded. He didn't care anymore. Better to not feel than to have his heart broken and repaired so many times.

At eleven, he ceased to cry. These days, he and his sister lived at their apartment during the day and stayed in the downstairs lobby at night. Their father was no wiser, anyway.

He started skipping school. What did it matter? His father didn't care, so why should he?

At thirteen, their father caught up with them (He truly was inept, in his son's mind, if he took this long to figure things out) and threatened to throw them out unless they lived in together.

And thus the nightmare continued, and this time, neither of them were spared.

His tears were gone, dried up. Instead, he simply cleaned up his wounds, then cared for his sister.

At fourteen, he was in his teenage years and rebelling. He dressed in black, or dyed the cast-off clothes dumped in his direction. His favorite characters in fiction were vampires, because vampires lived forever and had nothing to fear.

He thought life was foolish and meaningless. Everything was nothing. He was nothing.

His laugh was now bitter and cynical. The only thing that could make him truly laugh was his sister. He refused to let her be defiled by him or by others. The only sunshine in his life.

_Are you all right, girl?_

He constantly asked her that question.

Her only reply was to burrow her face into his shoulder and cry, and then he would sigh and hold her. What else could he do?

At fifteen, he was a drug addict. He took everything, getting high and crashing low. He grew moodier, and his sister feared for him. She begged him to stop, but he couldn't.

He tried once. And the voices in his head were loud and clamoring. The pain in his body was excruciating. He couldn't stop.

And while he was high on something, he lashed out at his father.

The day had been terrible; the police had gotten hold of him and threatened to throw him into some juvenile detention centre (At least they hadn't figured out he was a druggie). He half-heartedly agreed, and they let him out.

He crashed at some alley, where he kept his stash of illegal drugs. It was near midnight when he stumbled home, with two thoughts in his mind:

_I'm going to kill you._

_Then I'm going to kill myself._

He pulled out the gun he had stolen, barged in, and pointed the gun at his father.

His sister had run to him, tugging at his sleeve and shouting at him to put it down.

While he was distracted, his father, half-drunk, had somehow grabbed a knife and stabbed him in the chest, dragging the blade down and sticking it hard into his gut.

_How dare you how dare you…_

He was proud of himself for not screaming as he collapsed on the ground.

As his blood dripped out and pooled around him while his father stumbled out the apartment, the last thing he remembered was his sister, tears streaming down her face and pleading for him not to go.

He found himself laughing at this, even though the action made the blood flow faster. He turned his head to spit out the red, coppery taste, reaching his bloody hand up to her, gasping a few final words.

_Take care of yourself, girl. I…can't watch over you forever, you know._

Then his hand went limp, and he became a soul without a body.

**TBC…**


	2. 二: Ghost

**To Grimmhausen: **_Sorry about the somewhat iffy grammar--I plan to fix that on Saturday. As for detail--hmm, you're right, I probably could've expanded a bit more. Some the weekend, I'll see what I can do. Thanks for reading and reviewing, though. I appreciate it. :)_

* * *

_**Ghost**_

Being a ghost wasn't such a thing, he realized. He could float or walk, pass though walls and the like, and watch over his sister.

And he didn't have to worry about sleeping or eating.

He had to watch out for Hollows, though; big brutes that claimed he smelled good. After nearly being eaten twice, he learned to stay away by ducking and weaving.

Hollows were stupid things, he realized, and he wondered why they existed. Maybe they were Hell's spawns, or some other thing. He didn't care. But once he caught on, he was quick to avoid them.

Occasionally, he saw sword-wielding people dressed in kimonos take on the Hollows. Some tried to approach him, but he always managed to get away. He didn't know what they wanted, and he wasn't going to take a chance.

He was hoping his father would be jailed for murder, but then he found out that he went free because it was an "act of self-defense." Huh. Stupid authorities. Always believing the adults.

Two years passed. Had he been still alive, he would've been seventeen (Though he retained his fifteen-year-old appearance). His father was now in the same pit as he—drink wasn't enough and only those little pills could keep him happy.

His sister crept around the house, her bright smile gone. He wanted to reach out to her, but he knew it would only scare her. So he kept his distance.

Something was happening to him though. Often, he would see other ghosts, and he would feel hungry—not food-hungry, but soul-hungry. He ignored it, thinking it was nothing. It must the influence of Hollows—nothing more.

Until his father did the unthinkable.

Maybe it was some hallucination-induced thoughts, but it was wrong. All so wrong.

He heard the screams, and realized what was happening.

Rage was boiling in him, and he slipped through the walls to see the scene.

Nausea, anger, horror mixed together, bearing down on him—

—Pain in his head—

The voices…

…Despair…

_I'm only a soul._

_I can't to anything._

_I'm such a failure._

_No…no, no—_

_Kill him kill him eat him_

Somewhere, somehow—

He was suddenly realized he was no longer a ghost; his body was large and unwieldy, and the chain in his chest was now a hole. A mask was on his face—

He was a Hollow, and he had a hunger to satiate.

Without further regard, he attacked his father.

_Tasty…_

Then he turned upon his sister, trembling on the ground.

_I'm supposed to protect you…_

_Your soul calls out to me._

_Protect you…_

_If I eat you, then we'll be together forever._

_Wouldn't you like that, girl?_

And before he realized it, his sister's soul was gone. He looked about the ransacked apartment, confused.

He was feeling empty, emptier than before.

_Girl?_

_NO!_

_No!_

Stumbling over furniture and breaking a window as he leapt out, he ran heedlessly, blindly. He stopped running when the sky was dark, and he realized that he was hungry.

_So…hungry._

_Girl? Are you there?_

_Yeah, you're with me._

He glanced down at his chest, seeing the gaping hole there. He saw his reflection in the river—the skull-like mask, his new form.

_I don't feel anything._

_Pain._

_Joy._

_Nothing._

_I need...souls._

Thus, he began his life as a Hollow.


	3. 三: Hollow

_**Hollow**_

At first, he still remembered his old life, his sister. But the more he ate, the more it faded. The more souls he consumed, the emptier and hungrier he felt.

He travelled to different places, consuming as many souls as he could.

At first, it was just dead people.

Then he decided it wasn't enough, because he was too hungry.

So he made up his mind to try the living people.

The first human he ate was a kid—probably six or seven. But he tasted oh-so-good, and his hunger seemed to abate, a little. But when the pains began anew, he devoured souls, both of dead and living. The smell of souls, their taste—

It was all good.

He was on the every shinigami's list of Hollows to kill (It seemed that once souls became Hollows, they knew instinctively to avoid death gods), but he was good at hiding. His stamina was long lived, his speed unnaturally fast for an ordinary Hollow.

Oh, he once lost an arm, and one of the horns on his mask was cut off, but it was really nothing—as long as he kept his head on his shoulders and avoiding getting sliced in half.

Years passed; he didn't care. His memories her dim; he didn't care.

All that mattered and all that was in his mind were two things: Staying alive—well, staying away from getting kicked into Hell by those high-and-almighty shinigami—and eating souls.

He ate all souls, but only of one gender—the males.

A part of him still remembered he had a sister, and it would be a disgrace to her if he ate females.

He had yet to kill a shinigami, though.

Finally, he was cornered by two shinigami. They held their swords high, ready to bring it down on him.

_I'm already dead._

_I'm already a Hollow._

_I'm not going down now!_

He screamed, the sound so piercing loud that he was sure everyone, both dead and alive, could hear it. He felt something rip through his back, and found that he had grown wings.

He only dimly remembered the battle—_bitinghackingshriekingslashing_—

What he remembered clearly is how good those two shinigami tasted.

They tasted better than souls.

And he began eating all souls—humans and shinigami alike.

But the hunger was always there, clawing at him and his mind. He refused to succumb, though. He wanted to keep hold of his mind and thoughts; he didn't want to become just another stupid, bumbling Hollow.

He still had his wings. At first, flying with them was slightly awkward. He adjusted himself quickly, and found that he could elude a lot of his enemies by using his wings, stamina, and speed combined.

More years passed, though every day was the same to him (eat, kill, and run).

He met other Hollows, some bigger and more powerful. More often than not, he fought with other Hollows for souls. He usually won, but sometimes he was left with wounds.

He didn't like that.

_I've come this far, only to be pushed aside._

_I need…to be on the top._

_The top._

_Hollows…they were once souls…_

_I wonder if they taste good._

The more he thought, the better it sounded to him.

So he tried it one day, after a fight.

He ripped the other Hollow's head off and devouring it—

It was like the drugs he once took. Blissful. The hunger pains lessened.

From then on, he only ate Hollows.

Little did he was now evolving into a Menos.


End file.
